This is a post that I started (but never finished) last August, shortly before I departed from my job at Optimal Purchase. It struck a rather potent chord with me, now that I can reflect on what that choice eventually led to.

"Zefrank had a rather delightful little question recently:

'You partake in a medical experiment. In the experiment you are given one of two pills. You don't know which one until after you take it. One shortens your life by 10 years, and the other lengthens your life by 10 years. You have just found out which pill you took. The question is: which pill do you think will increase the quality of your life the most? Would one make you change the way you live your life more than the other?'

The answer is rather slippery. The obvious "trick" to the question is that most people would be pressed to make more of the time they have if they discovered they had less of it available to them; thus, the life-shortening pill would be more beneficial. This assumes, however, that the person is not already making the most of their time. What is "making the most", then? Certainly, there is no limit to how well one can spend any given amount of time, so we can't say that such a person wouldn't be further enhanced by the life-shortening pill. Yet it's a difference of twenty years that's at stake, and a great many things can be accomplished and experienced in that time. I feel strongly that I am making excellent use of my time, currently - but will I look back in a decade and say the same?

Regardless, it's in the shadow of such thoughts that I depart from a job that I have kept for nearly ten percent of my total lifespan. I've lived out hundreds of hours in a patch of 500 square feet that has not changed a bit, that is still no more my own or in any way connected to me than when I started. It feels as though I became marvelously good at building sand castles right on the shore. A trophy that other beach-goers will appreciate, but at the end of each day I walk away with little of substance to show for my hard work."

It's a funny thing, looking back. I was certainly convinced that I was on the right path, but the choices I ended up making were at times hilariously poor - and I mean really poor. I can't say I feel bad about it, though; the process of learning precisely how much of a fool I can be is highly rewarding in its own way. I am forever cycling between emitting excessive bravado and being acutely humbled before circumstances and people I once thought myself much greater than. This cycle is probably the only thing that keeps me from turning into a giant, oozing douche.

I rather like the direction everything has taken. I think I've finally begun to move away from judging myself as a enormous bag of potential and testicular fortitude to something a little more practical. I still have my classic delusions of grandeur rolling around in the back of my mind, but I don't feel that those cravings for extreme success are what primarily drive my behavior. Life has become less of a pursuit of an ideal that I think it should conform to, and more about tweaking the pieces that don't fit quite right. With some critical examination, I realize what a sodding megalomaniac I've been (and still am, in some ways). I genuinely believed that all of my flaws and failures were environmental. I felt strongly that anyone who truly knew me would understand exactly how devilishly smart and insightful I was. Therefore, if these qualities were not immediately recognized, it was an issue with the observation capabilities of my peers, and not a reflection of my communication skills or work ethic.

These were all things that my tutor brought to my attention in England, but the environment there was so supportive to introspection and grand philosophizing - perhaps the two abilities I excel at above all else - that my ego was fed nothing less than a grand feast, regardless of the warnings of my mentor. That's not to say that England was in any way a bad experience, but in hindsight, I'm not sure the 18-year-old T-Fro really needed to hear anything about how stupidly insightful he was. I definitely rode that train of self-affirmation for a few too many months afterward. Really, the story of my life since then could be summed up as a long series of events focused primarily on showing me that I am not as badass as I think I am.

I used to consider my delusions an important quality of my character. I always knew I was a megalomaniac, but I reassured myself that my exorbitant ego and unrealistic ideals of self were wholly justified. Yet, as I stray away from those ideals, the more I see that they only encouraged an intense desperation and despair. When such a massive divide exists between who I am and who I think I am meant to be, what reason is there to be hopeful? If I cannot see the meaningful nature of the small steps in attaining that ideal, how can I ever feel myself making progress? The irony is, of course, that as I become more practical in my life goals, the more I witness myself inching towards that vision that I'd always wanted. The key, of course, is that I am inching, not leaping.

All that's to say: it's amazing how much can change in less than a year.

Savoir Adore - Bodies (French Horn Rebellion Remix)
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